And my pretty little masachist was here
I wandered, calmly, through the door of my life,
And straight into his,
A worn oaken one, brass doornobs,
I stuggled to push,
He helped me opened it, and pushed me through,
Into the dark space,
Where he taught me to twist and turn and writhe and burn,
I'd long forgotten this lost art,
Mixing my blood with his,
Bathing in each others minds,
"What a nice day for a murder"
He sliced my skin open, cut open my mind,
My back arched and my eyes rolled,
He pushed on, not gently, not firm.... but frankly.
He'd forgotten that he wanted to show me,
Just knew he had to,
That he had to make me his,
That I had to understand,
I didn't belong to the Earth, or God or Allah..
His mind, his body,
My breasts, my thighs, my mind, my sex,
And I gave it him, laid out in front of him,
Naked as birth,
Before he even asked.